Fudge revisited

My daughter made a delicious batch of fudge. The boys were in a sugar induced heaven as they sliced off carefully partitioned squares of the glorious brown drug this AM. Well someone, somehow (because nooooo one is fessin’ up to it) left the fudge container a little toooo close to the edge of the counter. By close I mean, all the way pushed against the back splash. Yes, in other words, not close to the edge at all – or so they swear. When we got home from school, the container was on the ground and the fudge was g.o.n.e – gone.

Like junkies needing a fix, the kids were irritably devastated as they glared at the dog, who was looking “sickish.” The rest of the evening is a blur of black-outs and bouts with insanity. However, I faintly remember massive pools of fudge vomit flowing all over my cream-colored carpet. Just as one was scrubbed semi-clean, with heaves and eruptions, another would be deposited by the fudge stealing hog dog. I vaguely recall buckets, rags and scrub brushes in multiple hands cleaning the horrid puke piles. I think I was about to swear but then saw several impressionable little eyes watching me. The little eyes of which were taking in my every facial expression, movement and following my cues. If I laughed, the people who wore the little eyes laughed. If I engaged in rage, the little eyes would begin to go off on the hog dog. When I got the buckets and began to work, they helped. They may be influenced by society but the biggest influence they receive in right in the home. They may watch others but they are ALWAYS watching us.

It’s all still a trauma induced blur but the most crystal clear moment of the entire night was when I scrubbed harder they said “Oh good mom, it looks like you got this…thanks” and walked away.

Right before my psychotic break, if my memory serves me correctly, I believe the dog is somewhere in the vicinity of the garage.